Continued from (x)
@cuttingedgeservice
It was the worst time to be out of staves. Time almost seemed to skip in the moment Dwyer realized he could not dodge the attack. At first, it was slow, the dagger taking its time to make contact as Dwyerâs body turns as if it were submerged in tar.
And then it was quicker than light, lancing into his right side before he can register it. Pain explodes in his chest, and the impact of the projectile sends the young troubadour staggering backwards, a hand latching onto the hilt in an attempt to keep the dagger in. However, as luck would have it, Dwyer finds himself falling down hard on an exposed tree root, the jolt of the fall driving the dagger in deeper before pulling it out entirely as he ends up with his back to the tree itself.
His mind is too blinded by pain to register the voice of his father at first, and only barely notices the ripping of his clothing as his wound is examined. Dwyerâs dark clothing is soaked with blood and the wound itself, while not big per se, is certainly deep. If the bruise was any indication, the wound was serious, too. While Dwyerâs hands comply to the request, they are shaking badly.
